The Bulls (Les taureaux) Jacques Brel (Ft. Shawn Elliott)

[SHAWN ELLIOTT]
On Sundays, the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to show off for us
There is the sun, the sand, and the arena
There are the bulls ready to bleed for us
It's the time when grocery clerks become Don Juan
It's the time when all ugly girls
Turn into swans, hah
Who can say of what he's found
That bull who turns and paws the ground
And suddenly he sees himself all nude, hah
Who can say of what he dreams
That bull who hears the silent screams
From the open mouths of multitudes

[COMPANY]
Olé!

[SHAWN]
On Sundays, the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to suffer for us
There are the picadors, and the mobs revenge
There are the toreros, and the mob kneels for us
It's the time when grocery clerks become García Lorca
And the girls put roses in their teeth like Carmen